


The Least Heterosexual Birthday Of Your Life (So Far)

by karcathy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (not really though), Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Attempted Smut, M/M, birthday kisses, kissing and fluff, most hetero fic ever, wow okay tags are dumb, yeah john is totally Not A Homosexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karcathy/pseuds/karcathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are John Egbert, and you turn sixteen today. Your best bro of all time, Dave Strider, is visiting you, and you soon find your relationship progressing to a  new and unexpected place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Least Heterosexual Birthday Of Your Life (So Far)

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this at 2am and it was probably a really bad decision and a really dumb thing to do for new years but oh well, happy new year and enjoy your john/dave :)

Your name is John Egbert, and today is your sixteenth birthday. You plan on spending it with your best bro of all time, Dave Strider, watching a truly epic amount of Nic Cage movies. Is there a better way to spend your sweet sixteen? You think not.

Right now, however, it is eight in the morning, and said best bro of all time is still asleep in your spare room, having flown over from Texas the previous day to be with you on this momentous occasion. You contemplate going to wake him up, but decide to be kind and let him sleep in for a bit. Anyway, another of your friends is currently trying to get your attention. You go to your computer and open the Pesterchum application.

**\-- tentacleTherapist [ TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 8:06 --**

TT: I am given to understand that today is a particularly important day.  
TT: A special occasion.  
TT: The sort of day which only comes about once in a lifetime.  
TT: A day too important, perhaps, for you to participate in conversation with one of your closest friends?  
EB: sorry i was asleep  
EB: it’s 8am on a saturday rose why would i even be awake  
TT: You were logged on.  
EB: well ok i’m awake now.  
EB: what did you want?  
TT: To wish you a happy sixteenth, of course.  
EB: oh ok  
EB: thanks  
TT: You’re welcome.  
TT: Despite the fact that I haven’t actually wished you a happy birthday yet.  
TT: That said, happy birthday, John.  
EB: thanks  
EB: again  
TT: And, again, you’re welcome.  
TT: So, what are you doing on this most special of days?  
EB: hanging out with dave  
EB: watching a few movies  
EB: you know, bro stuff  
TT: Is today the day you plan on confessing your unrequited love for Strider?  
EB: what??  
TT: Are you planning on telling Dave you have a massive and not exactly platonic crush on him?  
EB: wait hold on  
EB: i do not have a crush on dave  
EB: where would you even get an idea like that  
EB: don’t answer that  
TT: Ok.  
EB: look ok dave is my bro and i love him... but not in THAT way.  
TT: Right.  
TT: Well, anyway, I have to go.  
EB: bye  
TT: Talk to you later.  
EB: ok then  
TT: Possibly when you’re over the denial it’s painfully obvious you’re in.

**\-- tentacleTherapist [ TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 8:23 --**

  
You leave the conversation feeling vaguely uneasy, almost as if your friend’s words had some truth to them. However, that idea is completely ridiculous, and you quickly ignore it. Instead, you decide Dave has had enough of a lie-in, and go into the spare room to wake him up.  
“Hey, Dave,” you say, shaking the vaguely human shape huddled up under the covers, “Hey, get up.”  
He makes a pained noise, rolls over, and tries to ignore you. Sighing, you pull the covers away and throw them onto the floor.  
“Rise and shine!”  
He covers his face, groaning and squinting into the light, and mutters something about you being far too cheerful for this early in the morning.  
“Come on, Dave, get up. It’s my birthday!”  
“I know,” he says, his arm still covering his eyes.  
“Then what are you waiting for? Get up!”  
“Ugh, fine.”  
You stand there expectantly as he sits up, his eyes firmly closed.  
“Where are my sunglasses?” he asks, reaching blindly for the bedside table.  
“Oh, come on. It’s half past eight in the morning. You don’t need your sunglasses.”  
“What you fail to comprehend is the absolute necessity of me wearing my sunglasses at all times.”  
“The world isn’t going to end just because you let someone see your eyes,” you say, sighing and wondering what’s so special about them, anyway.  
“You never know,” he replies, finding the sunglasses and placing them firmly on his face, then turning to look at you, “I’m always careful when it comes to apocalypses. You never know when one might happen.”  
“That’s ridiculous.”  
“Hey, you’re the one who made me watch all those dumb apocalypse movies,” he says, standing up and look at you with what you think is probably an expectant expression, beneath the ironic sunglasses.  
“Yeah, whatever. Hey, do you want to get some breakfast?”  
“Sure,” he says, shrugging nonchalantly. You think he could probably win a nonchalant competition if he wasn’t too cool to turn up.

You and Dave go down to the kitchen, where you prepare an elaborate breakfast of toast and orange juice. Whilst you eat, he wishes you the coolest happy birthday you’ve ever received, and casually asks what your plans are for the day. You think Dave Strider is probably the coolest guy you will ever meet, in the least gay way possible. You think that your feelings for him will never be even slightly gay, because you are Not A Homosexual.

After breakfast, you go up to your bedroom and lie in your bed with Dave’s laptop, watching movies in a totally heterosexual way. You think this is probably the most heterosexual birthday activity you could be engaging in, and also the best.

Three terrible movies starring Nicolas Cage later, Dave has decided enough is enough, and closed the laptop, ignoring your pleas and protests that it’s your birthday, not his.  
“If I have to watch one more of these movies, I’m going to kill myself and you. I’ll go all double suicide on our asses.”  
“You can’t make me commit suicide, it’s my birthday.”  
“Dude, stop playing the ‘It’s my birthday’ card. It’s getting old.”  
“But it is my birthday.”  
“I know.”  
You roll over onto your side, so you’re facing him, and it suddenly strikes you that this bed really wasn’t designed for two people, and Dave’s face is uncomfortably close to yours. He’s lying on his side too, still wearing those ridiculous sunglasses, his expression inscrutable.  
“Hey,” you say, trying to distract yourself from the vaguely inappropriate and un-heterosexual thoughts running through your head, “You haven’t given me a birthday present yet.”  
“True,” he says, shifting slightly, and somehow ending up even closer to you.  
His face is now inches from yours – and is that his hand on your waist? You feel your breath hitch in your throat as you try to stare into his eyes, only to be confounded by those stupid sunglasses. You wish he’d take them off.  
“So, um,” you say, acutely aware of how un-heterosexual the atmosphere between you was at the moment, “Do you, uh, have a present for me?”  
“Sure I do,” he says, smiling slightly, and you notice in a very un-heterosexual way how beautiful his smile is.  
You try to ask what it is, but your mouth is dry and your words stick in your throat and you begin to panic and oh god what if he does that.  
“Happy birthday, John,” he whispers, leaning in closer and closer until his lips touch yours and Jesus Christ that’s definitely a kiss.  
Your best friend in the whole world just kissed you on your birthday.  
Your best friend in the whole world just kissed you and you think that just maybe you liked it.  
“Wait,” you say, pulling back, your mind racing.  
You’re thinking about how perhaps you want him to kiss you again and perhaps for him You Are A Homosexual and perhaps you want your best friend to be more than a friend and perhaps all these thoughts are too much and you can’t think straight and oh god Lalonde knew. She knew and she tried to tell you and you wouldn’t listen.  
“Yeah?” he says, staring intently at you, and you almost thought he looked a little nervous.  
You try to think coherently and maybe say that you think you could probably think about him like that but that this was all going too fast and you needed some time and space and you wished your head would stop spinning and that he would take off those damn shades.  
“Could you take off your sunglasses?” you ask, ignoring all your other thoughts in favour of the least important.  
“What? Why?”  
“I want to see your eyes,” you say, lifting your hand up and curling your fingers gently around the frame of his sunglasses.  
He pauses for a moment, then nods tersely, once. Gently, you lift the glasses off of his face, lean back and deposit them on the floor. Turning back to him, you cup his cheek in one hand and run your thumb under his eye, telling him to stop being such a baby and open his eyes. Cautiously, he does, flinching slightly as he waits for your reaction, and you stare into his eyes. They are the most beautiful shade of red you’ve ever seen, and you think this is probably the least heterosexual moment of your life so far.  
“They’re beautiful,” you whisper, thinking that eyelashes that long and pretty should probably be illegal, “Why do you wear those things?”  
“Kind of a weird colour, don’t you think?” he says, smiling wryly.  
“I like it.”  
He just smiles again, and you wonder whether you should kiss him. This would probably be a good time for kissing to be happening. He’s staring into your eyes and you wonder whether you’re imagining that nervous look you can see in them and part of you just wishes he would kiss you so you don’t have to kiss him and yet another part thinks that this probably shouldn’t be your whole birthday present because one chaste kiss really isn’t such a great birthday present and now you’re letting the moment drag on and it’s getting really awkward so maybe you should just-  
“I like you,” you whisper, leaning in and slipping your hand around into his hair, which is so soft you begin to wonder what sort of conditioner he uses and have to remind yourself that now really isn’t the time to be asking that sort of question.  
Nervously, you press your lips against his, and wonder how this kissing thing is supposed to work, anyway. Tilting his head slightly, you begin gently moving your lips, waiting for a reaction, then sigh softly when none is forthcoming.  
“Dude, you suck at kissing,” he says, pulling away.  
“Well, I’m new to this,” you reply crossly, pouting childishly, “Why don’t you show me how it’s done, if you know so much about it?”  
“Maybe I will.”  
Smiling again, he leans in and kisses you, and you respond, trying not to think about how terrible you are at this. You run your hand through his hair and grin when he sighs softly then glares at you as if to say that didn’t just happen. Leaning in, you kiss him again, and start to think you’re getting the hang of this. Maybe you aren’t so terrible at kissing after all.  
“Okay, maybe you don’t suck,” he says, pulling away again.  
You pout at him, annoyed he stopped you when it was going so well, and begin kissing his neck instead. He sighs again, and you grin to yourself as you start kissing your way down to his collarbone, your fingers still curled in his hair. You start to wonder how far this could end up going, and the thought scares you a little. You pull away and settle your head back on the pillow, staring into Dave’s eyes. His hand is still on your waist, and his fingers tighten slightly as he leans back and asks you what’s wrong.  
“Nothing,” you say, smiling and wondering how you could ask him how far he thinks this will go without giving him the wrong impression.  
He rolls his eyes and leans in to kiss you again, his hand slipping down to your hip and pushing, gently forcing you onto your back.  
“Sorry,” he mutters, as he rolls on top of you and rests his chin against yours, “My arm was getting squashed.”  
“Right,” you say, thinking something between he’s lighter than I thought and how do I get him to keep kissing me.  
Smiling as if he can read your thoughts – which are probably shown clearly enough by your face – he shifts himself slightly, slipping his hands and knees down on either side of you and propping himself up, and leans up to kiss you again. In this position, you are disappointed to find, Dave’s body is no longer pressed against yours, and you quickly slip your hands around his waist, pulling down until he collapses against you, slipping down so his face is now pressed into your neck.  
“Sorry,” you say, not feeling particularly sorry as he starts kissing your neck instead.  
Running one of his hands down your chest as he slips off to the side, he kisses his way down to the neck of your t-shirt, and you make incoherent noises of protest as you tighten your arms around him in an attempt to keep him on top of you. He shooshes you, slipping a hand up under your shirt and caressing your stomach, and you try not to think about the fact that you just moaned slightly. You roll over so now you’re lying on top of him, and you bump into the wall next to your bed. Ignoring this, you continue kissing Dave, as he slides your t-shirt further and further up, until it catches on your chin and you have to take it off yourself. You contemplate taking off Dave’s shirt too, but he won’t let you. Huffing, you roll onto your back again and let him kiss his way across your collarbones.  
“Is this my birthday present, then?” you ask, biting your lip and trying unsuccessfully not to gasp as he nibbles the base of your neck gently.  
“Nearly,” he mutters, moving downwards, kissing your sternum.  
His hands slip to the waistband of your pants and you begin to have very definite ideas about where this is going. You prop yourself up on one elbow, and he pauses, looking up at you, his red eyes wide and questioning: Do you want me to do this? Silently, not trusting yourself to speak, you nod once, and collapse back, your head hitting your pillow with a soft whoomph. You swear you can feel him grinning as he undoes your pants and pulls them down to your knees, followed quickly by your underpants. He pauses again, and you begin to wonder whether he’s done this before, and then his mouth is on your dick and oh god he has to have done this before. You think about asking him but decide now is really not a good time for that but oh god that feels good and your thoughts are becoming very incoherent very quickly and it’s only been a few seconds you’re not going to-  
You’re not-  
Are you?  
…  
You are.  
You blush beetroot-red as he looks up at you, one eyebrow raised, and roll onto your tummy, burying your face in your arm. He laughs gently, and tries to pull your face out of your arm, but you refuse to look are him. Maybe if you concentrate hard enough, you can disappear and make this all go away. You’re fairly sure you just lost some sort of virginity to your best friend.  
“Hey,” he says, leaning in close to whisper into your ear, “Hey, don’t be like that.”  
“Like what?” you say, your voice muffled by your arm.  
He sighs and tuts disapprovingly. You are quite positive you’re about to die of embarrassment.  
“Quit sulking and put your pants back on,” he says, planting a quick kiss on your cheek, “I think I can hear your dad’s car outside.”  
You look up, a panicked expression on your face, and quickly pull your clothes back on, the blush slowly fading from your cheeks. When you turn back around, Dave is lounging on your bed, sunglasses in place, as if nothing had happened. You smile slightly, settling down next to him, and the two of you start arguing about which movie you’re going to watch next. It’s much like your arguments before, but with more kissing. You begin to think you like this quite a lot.


End file.
